The summer of pet funerals

Crash died back at the end of June.

He’d been sick for a few months. A lengthy vet visit, several tests and an expensive bill told us that he had either liver disease, cancer or both and unless we could afford to continue investigating through more lengthy visits and hefty bills, we needed to consider putting him down.

Turns out, we didn’t have to make the decision. He passed away one night, peacefully we hope, underneath our bed, while we were asleep.

He came to live with us six years ago after the vet had revived him from a near-fatal car accident. We’ve never known how old he was or even how many lives he might have had before he slowly won Shaune’s heart those few weeks he was in a crate, up for adoption after the vet had sewn him up. At the time, our dog’s diabetes had us at the clinic twice a week to pick up small vials of insulin.

We lost our dog several months later. He was 11. He’d been with me since he was eight weeks old.

I was grateful to have Crash close-by,  his rabbit-soft fur felt so good through my fingers those long grief-filled months after Judge died. I was inconsolable, could no longer even drive down the streets we’d walked him, watching episode after episode of The Dog Whisperer which I found strangely comforting. I was pregnant with Deaglan then, unaware of the change my life would take once a human baby came into it.

I think poor Crash never got the attention he deserved from me. I’ve been so busy these last five years, my lap hardly ever empty. I take comfort in knowing Shaune adored him, thought about his well-being constantly, lovingly, the way we had with Judge before children came and consumed all of our attention.

When he finally found the cat, that summer morning, Shaune ran downstairs to find me, sipping coffee, both kids on my lap. I saw something in his face, something he didn’t have to explain and made up an excuse as to why I had to run upstairs for a second with Daddy. Our king sized bed was pulled out from the wall, revealing missing toys, pacifiers, mismatched socks, and Crash amidst it all, laying on his side, his teeth exposed in a strange almost grisly way.

We’d been readying Deaglan for weeks of our cat's death, had explained that it could happen any time and that once it did, Crash would go immediately to heaven. And yet, nothing could really prepare him for it because when we told him, he cried for days. He began missing Judge too, who he’d actually never met – I was five months pregnant with him when we lost our dog.  For a few weeks he would recall stories of things he and Judge did together.

It was odd and endearing.

About a month ago, we noticed the cleaning fish, the one we got specifically to keep the tank that sits on the boys’ dresser clear of algae – we noticed he was dead. No one had even thought to name him. Shaune and I simply referred to him as The Cleaner even though we were convinced no one had ever explained this function to him, the proof being a tank that was constantly green and slimy, despite our attempts to clear it with different solutions the pet store recommended.

When we told Deaglan he was devastated. 

We took our places, consoling him, reminding him that he’d likely joined Crash and Judge and Grandma Mac and Uncle Matt up in heaven. And still, every few days he tells us how terribly he misses the fish – the one we can’t even refer to by name.

So, you can imagine how sick I am at the thought of telling our four year old of our latest casualties: that last Wednesday morning his Dad discovered his other two fish – the ones with names – Toopy and Binoo,  dead. They'd outlived all of our expectations: three full years, enormous, fluid and shiny. Imagine how grateful I am that the tank is murky enough from the Cleaner’s absence to not yet be noticed. 

Dread fills me every day we don't tell the kids. I know too well a four year old curiosity - the demand to see the dead bodies, ask a million times how it happened. 

This weekend I've been holed away studying for a final exam - I'm taking some industry related courses for work. Shaune took the kids to a bee farm yesterday and to an apple/pumpkin farm today. These pictures were taken this afternoon.

Sinister smiles

Eating apples yet unpaid for.

Finding just the right pumkin

That mood where even the cat is a target

A friend of mine's 15 year old daughter periodically reminds her that she was a really mean mom when her brother Jack was born. The daughter was almost three when my friend's son was born. My friend says that she has a pretty good relationship with her two teenagers but admits that it was hard, hard work juggling a newborn and a toddler. She tells me this story to give me room to complain about my life. It's a nice gesture. But what I take away from this?

THEY REMEMBER!??

I was under the misguided notion that Deaglan won't remember these days. That if I slip up here and there, he'll be none the wiser when he's old enough to seek therapy. Like the other day when I woke up, clearly on the wrong side of the bed, and exclaimed Oh for f@#*'s sake because I couldn't even make it to the washroom before Deaglan was asking me for a million and one things. Shaune just looked up in astonishment and wisely didn't say a word. Later that same day, while playing on the floor and talking to himself, we heard our three year-old say - Awww F**k it! In my defense, I almost never use it as a verb so I don't know where he got that from!

And also? I stopped swearing almost completely when I became a mother. It's only been recently since a certain toddler needs to be told something 19 times before he'll even entertain the notion of listening and since I stopped sleeping about eight months ago. And mostly, I just swear under my breath.

I'd be misleading you if I let you believe that my experience of motherhood is all sunshine and roses. Like my friend says, it's hard, hard work. I try to keep perspective by remembering how lucky I am to have two healthy beautiful kids, but it doesn't always work. Sometimes I want to lock myself in the bathroom and scream. Sometimes after I've told Deaglan to stop jumping 85 times and then on the 86th time he hurts himself, I want to say see, what did I tell you? But it's not the job. I'm supposed to hug him, comfort him.

And I don't always want to play. Let me rephrase that, I don't want to play a lot of the time. I'd rather be checking off my mental to-do list, or enjoying a hot beverage curled up with the laptop. But that's not the job either.

So there you have it. Full disclosure. 

Even though I love this job, there are lots of times I feel tired, and challenged and inept. 

 Now that I have that off my chest - phew that feels good - I'll explain the pictures. I'm hosting a wedding shower next weekend for one of my very closest friends - Erin. That explains why I'm decorating for Valentine's Day - something I usually boycott. I've been trying to find the best vignette for my shelves. I've got a few other little projects I'm working on that I'll post next week.

I also wanted to post a recent picture of myself - it's one of my favourite things when I visit a blog - to have an idea of what the blogger looks like. This is a self portrait I took today. I got some clearer shots but they were a little too clear for my liking if you know what I mean. No one needs to see my big pores and acne.

And I had two potted crocus plants for my shelves, but this a**hole above has been eating them. I know I'm gonna hear it from Shaune for calling the damned cat names on the internet, but seriously. Can I have one nice thing in this house without the cat or kids wrecking it??

Without warning

I took a blog break. I didn't follow any of the rules usually required of a week long break from the other parts of my life.

At work I would've needed to book the time off, get approval and make sure my work was done or at least being done by someone else on my team. At home I would have needed to find someone to look after the kid and the cat.

But I didn't make any arrangements. I didn't give you warning, or a guest blogger or even a hint as to when I was going to reappear.

Sorry.

It was just that Deaglan had an ear infection. And I had high fevers and headaches. And Shaune had his wisdom teeth pulled. And the cat, um. Okay there was nothing wrong with the cat but he didn't make it any easier with the ears, the teeth and the fevers. And usually I would at least read your posts to find out what was going on in your lives. But I didn't. And I really couldn't. But I will. Because now I'm back.

A Crash course

I don't know if this look of irritation has always been there or if he developed it over the last year and a half as the result of becoming second fiddle in this household. All I know is that I'm already being bossed around by a tiny tyrant in diapers and pleasing this sour puss is the last thing on my mind these days.

It wasn't always like this though. We used to be close, Crash and I.

Our vetrinarian Dr. Jen saved him from a close call with death when Animal Control found him on the side of the road mangled, bloody and barely breathing. She said that they were ready to euthanize him when they heard the tiniest little "mew". Dr Jen and her team felt compelled to at least try to save him but didn't hold much hope assessing from his condition that he had to be at least 12 years old and in very bad shape.

But thank goodness they did because within the next few months this old and battered feline healed into a vibrant, gorgeous and feisty cat. Dr Jen realized that her estimation of his age was far off and that he was only two or three years old. They named him Crash not only for what he had already endured but also because of the havoc he began to wreak in the clinic - running into walls chasing balls, demanding his needs in clear and articulate meouws, tormenting the patients there on short visits.

At the time, Shaune or I had been making weekly stops at the Vet's office to pick up insulin for our old pup Judge who had been diagnosed with serious diabetes a few months prior. And each week, Dr Jen would have a different rescued animal (almost always cats) in the display crate in the front lobby of the clinic in hopes that an adoption or two would take place. A few times Shaune would come home and mention this one cat. It bothered him that this cat seemed to have been there longer than any of the others that were up for adoption.

Well I guess you know where this story is going. It bothered Shaune more and more and weirdly, I never saw this particular cat on my trips to the clinic. I would ask Shaune - is it the one with the orange stripes? No. The odd grey cat with the stitched up eye? Nope.

Finally, I said, well lets ask about him. We did. Dr Jen and her staff were thrilled that we were interested. They knew us well - our dog Judge had been their patient for the past 9 years and he had singlehandedly probably paid Dr Jen's mortgage for at least a full year - with his knee replacement, X-rays and ultrasounds, yearly shots and insulin, not to mention several one or two week stays at Hotel-So-Expensive-We-Considered-Selling-The-Shirts-Off-Our-Backs-Just-To-Pay for his recovery.

Anyway, they couldn't be happier that we wanted to take Crash home. He'd been with the clinic for almost five months most likely because people were looking for kittens.

That was two and a half years ago.

These days I grumble and complain about the attention he demands of me. I threaten him when he's using my furniture as a scratching post. I hover close by when Deaglan is smothering him with kisses and bear-hugs. But at the end of the day, I have to admit he's been a pretty good sport about becoming second fiddle.

First name basis

Deaglan still doesn't really say much - that we can understand. I mentioned a few weeks ago that he says "cheez". Recently he's added "teest” which means please. He also says “wrrashssss” which we know to mean Crash (0ur Cat). When he`s really proud of himself he exclaims this “I di ya!” which we strongly believe means I did it!

But I think the most entertaining linguistic development has gotta be that he has begun to call Shaune by first name. A few weeks ago I called to Shaune who was a floor below me. Deaglan echoed me yelling: Shau!! Then he looked at me to see my reaction. I stifled a giggle. I called Shaune again. And again he yelled Shau!! Shaune walked up the stairs, the look on his face, hurt, incredulous.

“Did he just call me Shau?”

“Yes.”

“Well don’t let him. I don’t want my son referring to me by first name.”

“What do you want me to do? He is turning into a sponge. He’s gonna copy everything we do and say.”

“Well than start calling me Daddy.”

“Oh please! You’ve got to be kidding.”

A few days later, I forgot and yelled to Shaune again while holding Deaglan. Shau!! he echoed back. I`ve had a good laugh telling our friends and relatives this story.

But then tonight while I was transporting him from the tub to the change table, Deaglan craned his neck out of the warmth of his towel and yelled “Shau!!” Shaune wasn`t even home.

Am I getting the short end of the stick here I started to wonder. Not only had Deaglan been saying dada for a few months, now he was taking the trouble of learning Shaune’s given name. And then there was the Cat. . His first real attempt at communication was with the cat – I captured it on video back in November.

I felt a bit of resentment creeping in. I’m pretty sure the Cat didn’t carry him in his uterus for 41 weeks and three days, or shuffle to and from work when he could barely stand on his swollen extra large feet, listening to people exclaim things like: Are you sure you’re not having triplets, or WOW I’ve never seen boobs so big - you look like you’re gonna fall over!

Would it kill him to throw me a stray “ma-ma” here and there???

Indulgent

Lots of pictures of him I know but every new thing he does is so amazing to me. He's always LOVED the cat but these days he's taking this to new levels. Although we keep a close eye - the poor cat can only take so much, we also don't want to discourage these very large shows of affection.

First word

Shaune and I thought that Deaglan's first word would either be ma-ma or da-da. In all honesty he does say da-da and if you ask Shaune he will convince you that he's trying to say daddy. But I honestly think his first word has been Meow. As you most likely have heard us say - the kid is nuts about the cat. He can't get enough of him - the relationship isn't mutual, believe us. I tried to capture his meow here.